


Jim IS NOT being petty. Shut up.

by DrBDamned (orphan_account)



Series: Sweet Thing [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I love him, Jim is jealous, Jim starts working out, John and Seb are pals, John is a bit clumsy, John's giggles, M/M, Muscles, Sherlock's A Brat, and people like him that way, and short, exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:56:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4605825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DrBDamned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's fine that Seb and John are friends, but MUST they be so hands-on?!</p><p> </p><p>Takes place in AU after The Great Game. A little while after John recovers from the flu.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jim IS NOT being petty. Shut up.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! Sorry this one took a while to do, I've been super busy! I guess I picture Seb to look like Michael Fassbender (because that seems to be a thing, and I like it), but maybe more muscular? Jim definitely wouldn't be very muscular looking, he'd probably be just like Sherlock - lean, but with some hidden strength. That's always nice. Jim just wouldn't suit big muscles. I hope you enjoyed anyway! Just another something silly! Please review if you'd like, it makes my day!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock

Jim watches as Sebastian grabs a shrieking and giggling John by the ankles and lifts him up in the air so that John's hanging upside down, his stripy jumper sliding down to reveal his adorable soft stomach. Looks like Seb won another of their ridiculous play-fights. Jim had never taken into account the fact that the two ex-soldiers might become friends when Jim had first started pursuing his darling John. Don't get Jim wrong, he certainly likes to know that there's always someone on his side to keep a close eye on his little kitten; to feed him and entertain him and keep him out of mischief when Jim is busy with his work. But there's just one problem.

 

Jim is jealous.

 

Jim is very, very, jealous of Seb's muscles.

 

His dear Sebby, his right hand man, his go-to guy, his pal, BFF, brother from another mother. He is really quite strong. All that time playing soldiers in the army and then later being hired for Jim's 'work' have made him a very... physically capable young chap.

He stands at 6ft 4inches and owns every millimetre. It especially shows when he stands next to his John.

 

His beautiful kitten is as compact as they come, wrapped up in woolly jumpers and frowns (and with a ribbon as the finishing touch – but only on special occasions), and when he stands next to Seb it really is like comparing a tiny kitten to a fully grown tiger.

 

ADORABLE!!

 

And it doesn't help that Sebby seems to just _love_ carting the wee one about. He's _alwaaaaays_ picking John up to move him from one place to another – grabbing him by the waist to help him out the car, throwing him over his sturdy shoulder when John's being particularly stubborn or bratty about something, cradled like a baby in his arms when he's sick or injured (or that one time Jim accidentally drugged his tea).

 

And it would be fine, Jim wouldn't be all that _murderous,_ if John didn't seem to enjoy it as well! I mean, honestly, for someone so stubborn when it comes to self-sufficiency he really does giggle a lot when Seb gives him a piggy back.

 

Jim LOVES it when his pretty boy giggles. But only when he's the one making him giggle.

 

He decides to take action.

 

Blackmailing one of the best personal trainers in London as Step One is easily done. Step Two is buying a whole new closet full of designer gym wear – also easily done, as he does so love to shop. He makes a work-out playlist (full of Beyonce) for Step Three. But now comes the hard part, the part he dreads the most.

 

Exercise.

 

Ew.

 

Jim might be a lot of awful things (just ask Sherly dear), but one of his better qualities is his determination.

 

He managed to get John, after all.

 

So he starts working out immediately, every evening, seven days a week. He runs, swims, lifts weights, rows, and has twice as much sex with his kitten, who has a surprising amount of stamina. Jim will have to experiment on that later.

 

 

Slowly ( _yawn_ ), but surely, Jim starts to gain some muscle. Not a lot - he'd look ridiculous, being as short as he is. He likes the way his biceps bulge slightly underneath his suits. He looks _goooood_ , he feels even better. More dangerous, if that's even possible. He still gets Seb to do his dirty work, obviously - heaven forbid he gets a drop of blood on his Westwood. And Sebby just does _such_ a good job, the dear.

But on the rare occasions that Jim does snap – as he is prone to do – it is ever so satisfying to see the true fear in his victim's eyes as he slowly crushes their windpipe. He pushes and pushes, feeling his newly found muscles working, straining, draining the life of whoever he's shoved up against a wall, flattened to the ground, shackled from the ceiling.

 

He makes sure to send John to Baker Street on those nights.

 

 

 

His pumpkin takes his sweet time to notice the change in Jim. Perhaps because it was such a slow process, or maybe because Jim's very much domineering by nature, and John is used to being pushed about by him. He does finally catch on, however, when Jim takes to picking him up at every chance he can get.

 

 

It first starts when the two of them are out for dinner one night. It's not a terribly exciting story, though Jim still cackles with delight whenever it's brought up, much to John's dismay and embarrassment.

Basically, when the pair of them sat down at their table, John hadn't noticed that the strap of the satchel he takes to work had gotten tangled up in his chair legs. This wasn't a problem until John had excused himself to go to the loo, and gotten his foot stuck in his bag strap. He went tumbling down, bringing the chair with him, but the chair got trapped behind the table, which also went flying, spraying food and wine on all the customers closest to them. John lay there, ankle and face throbbing, covered in pasta and broken glass, looking absolutely mortified as he stuttered over his apologies, while Jim only sat there and laughed until he cried.

 

John had pouted furiously at him while Jim tried his best to clean up his boyfriend after they'd escaped outside. Jim had cooed and petted over him then, because John's face did look like it was going to bruise quite badly, and it was only really fun to laugh at John when he was laughing along with him. But John had batted his hands away and turned his back on the consulting criminal, stomping off down the street as best he could with a twisted ankle. Jim rolled his eyes and sauntered behind him.

 

“Really, buttercup, you should know better than to walk on your ankle like that.”

 

John didn't even look round to acknowledge him, and John secretly adored being called that pet name! Jim quickened his pace so that he was strolling along next to him.

 

“Are you _mad_ at me, kitten? I'm sorry I laughed at you, especially when I make such a fuss about that kind of thing, but really, your face- ” He was cut off by an icy glare from his grumpy partner.

 

“ _Okaaaayyy,_ I'm sorry! I promise I'll make it up to you. I'll let you wear pyjamas in bed tonight, and, _and_ you can decide on whether I'll use the riding crop or the whip on your pert little bottom!”

 

John wasn't taking him on at all, though his breathing had become more laboured (not in the good way), and his face was paling with obvious pain. Jim was bored of this. He stands on front of John to block his path and puts two firm hands on his shoulders, and waits for John to frown up at him.

“You are not taking another step on that ankle, sweetcheeks. You are clearly in pain, and seeing as I'm not the one who caused it, it is NOT acceptable! I don't care how stubborn you feel like being tonight, baby, I refuse to let you injure yourself further.”

 

Jim's hands are squeezing John's shoulders, and he can feel him squirming slightly under Jim's threatening glare. Though the height difference is minute, it does make a difference, apparently. John opens his mouth and inhales as though to speak, before pausing and snapping his mouth shut again. He furrows his brow, then looks down at his feet. Jim's hard expression softens a little at the display, and soon he's letting go of John's shoulders and turning to crouch in front, his back facing John.

 

“Hop on, sweetcheeks.”

 

He can hear the hesitancy in John's voice as he replies. “Eh, Jim, love, shouldn't we just call a cab?”

 

“Don't be ridiculous, dear, we're only five minutes from my flat. Now I won't ask again – hop on my back.”

 

“B-but, and now I don't mean to be rude, but are you sure you're strong enough? It's just, I've never seen you- ”

 

“Kitten, baby, Daddy's had enough now, and if you do not hop on my back right now, then I will _drag you_ by your _fucking dick_ back the flat.”

 

A split second later and John's shuffling his way up his boyfriend's back, arms wound tight around Jim's neck, face snuffling into the space between Jim's shoulder and throat. His legs are held tightly and securely by strong arms. This is when John notices.

 

“When the bloody hell did you get so strong?”

 

“Ahhh, my sweet, the things I do for love...”

 

John frowns in confusion, but decides to let yet another one go. He contents himself with having a rest and peppering Jim's neck with love bites.

 

 

***

 

 

 

A few days later Jim swings by Baker Street to visit his snookums. John's in the kitchen fixing up some breakfast and tells Jim to sit down while he gets him a cup of tea. _He'd look so good in a frilly little apron,_ Jim thinks to himself as he plonks down into Sherlock's chair.

 

At this moment, the detective himself emerges from his bedroom. His heckles rise as soon as he spots Jim. He glares and bares his teeth, and Jim winks back. Sherlock turns his back with a huff, and wanders into the kitchen. In there, John is trying to reach a jar of jam that always seems to be placed on the top shelf, just out of reach, which is strange because he's the only one who ever uses it. The two geniuses watch him in fond amusement for a moment, but then Sherlock turns to smirk at Jim, a glint in his eye.

 

He comes up behind John, and grabs him firmly around the waist, then lifts him easily off the ground. John squeals and squirms and blushes, but quickly reaches for the jar. Even then, it's a couple of extra seconds before Sherlock puts him down again. John sways slightly, and giggles, giving his friend a shy smile and a pat on the arm, before he stumbles off to get his toast, still giggling.

 

Sherlock looks over at Jim and raises a challenging eyebrow.

 

Jim grinds his teeth.

 

Sherlock wins this round.


End file.
